The Pale Bridge
Chapter One Slobodan Beridze pressed the chisel into the limestone, the metal biting deep, and the stone refused to split, holding its grain together with a stubbornness that felt personal, as if the rock itself had grown tired of being shaped by his hands. He wiped the dust from his brow, leaving a gray smear across the sweat, and looked out over the Rift Valley where the windmills, both...
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